The reef stirred long before light reached the coral peaks. Pale violet crept into the water, a slow bloom that touched the edges of windows and cast faint shadows along the arches. Even in this fragile calm, I felt tension in the current. It pressed against my scales like a warning, subtle but persistent, a reminder that the world beyond the arena was watching too.
I swam through the upper corridor toward the preparation hall, gills catching the chill of early tide. My hand brushed the veins at my throat, blue glow faint beneath skin, a steady rhythm that seemed louder with every breath. The organ the Demi-God had forced into me pulsed with quiet strength, but there was more than power in it. There was weight. Responsibility.
Inside, the hall was alive with movement. Bioluminescent globes swayed on vine cords, lighting competitors arranged in two neat rows. Each swimmer's tail flicked in a nervous beat. Paint masters drifted among us, dipping brushes into glowing pigment and streaking patterns across our fins. When the brush touched my arm, cool paint slid along my scales, leaving a deep sea-green stripe from wrist to elbow, the mark of our ridge. Tradition said it carried home's blessing into the Spiral, a promise to swim not just for oneself, but for every voice of the reef.
I steadied my breath, rolling shoulders to loosen tight muscles. Every motion reminded me of the training still coiled inside me, and of how little time I'd had to learn what this new strength could really do.
The room hushed as Yera entered, spear gripped at her side, posture sharp enough to cut. Her eyes scanned us one by one. When they met mine, they lingered, as if warning me not to let the god's gift make me reckless.
"Racers," she said, voice carrying easily through the water, "remember the rules. No lethal casts, no interference with other competitors. Guide the water, do not harm with it. You swim for life, not glory. Protect the hatchlings if danger rises, and only break the ritual if survival demands it."
The warning in her tone was for me as much as the others. I gave a small nod, accepting it.
Outside, the ceremonial drums began to beat, low and hollow, perfectly in time with the pulse of the tide. Caregivers passed the doorway carrying egg-glow lanterns, their shells shimmering with soft light. Far above, mothers' voices wove the Six-Color Lullaby, an ancient song to calm the currents and bless the race. I let the melody settle into my chest, smoothing the edge of my nerves.
A horn blast echoed through the hall. We filed out in single line, fins cutting clean paths through the water. The arena opened before us, and I caught my breath. Even with drills below and warning crystals burning amber, the Spiral Run's beauty was untarnished. Coral pylons twisted skyward in a perfect helix, each segment glowing a different hue, deep red at the base, shifting through orange, yellow, green, and blue, to the faint violet crown high above. Mist hung like gauze over the upper tiers, while banners floated with the rise and fall of current.
Caretakers perched at platforms, holding fruit offerings and measuring shells. Parents gathered in viewing arcs, their whispers mixing with the soft hum of the pylons. This was the reef at its most alive.
To my right, Harel of Tide-Song Nest stretched his arms, muttering a prayer to the flow. To my left, Torim from the cliff nests flexed broad shoulders, pride hard in his eyes. Twenty of us waited, breaths synchronized with the thrum of drums. Five would finish. The rest would be forgotten by tradition.
I touched the paint stripe on my fin. Watch me, I thought to whoever was listening, be it the reef, my caretakers, or the god who had changed me.
The echo-shell horn boomed. Water around the starting ring coiled into a tight spiral. The first pylon flared red. We dove.
The current hit like a living wall. Red tier demanded raw force. I drove my arms forward, tail kicking in wide arcs, feeling the strain build across my shoulders. Around me, racers thrashed for position, their wake dragging at my pace. The new organ burned hot but steady, lending strength when muscle alone faltered. I kept to the center path, avoiding frantic surges that would drain me too soon.
Orange tier narrowed, the course tightening between tall pillars. Currents funneled into narrow chutes, whipping into sudden eddies that flipped careless swimmers into nets. I kept my chin down, adjusting with subtle tail flicks. Harel surged ahead, reckless but fast, his strokes scattering bubbles in my face. Two racers clipped a pylon edge, spinning into the wall. I slipped past Torim with a nod, matching his line as the water bent toward yellow.
The reef groaned.
A tremor rippled through the structure, deep and angry, a sound of stone under strain. Water jolted, snapping against my skin. Ahead, an entire pylon shifted, dislodging chunks of coral that fell like snow. Racers scattered, panic breaking the rhythm. I skidded sideways, scraping my arm against rock. Blood rose in a purple thread. I bit back a shout and kept moving. The quake faded, leaving only silence, but the track had changed. We swam on, shaken.
Green tier rose in steep spirals. Flow jets angled inward, demanding rhythm and precise breathing. Halfway up, darkness sliced across the track. A shoal of shadowspawn poured through a cracked wall, violet eyes burning in clouded forms. Their shapes blurred, splitting and rejoining in the current. Fear slammed into my chest.
Instinct overrode thought. I raised both hands and shaped a water spear, the current snapping into form around my fingers. It streaked forward, striking one spawn hard enough to knock it off path, no wound, just force. The racer ahead shot free. I pulled in water sharply, Gills aching from the drain.
Yera streaked from the outer ring, her presence cutting panic. She didn't raise her blade, instead shaping wide water sweeps that herded the remaining spawn back. A pale-cloaked Exile scout flanked her, casting reverse currents with practiced ease. The creatures scattered into darkness, leaving the path open again. My heart hammered. I prayed the elders would see mercy, not violation, in what I had done.
Blue tier loomed above, water colder, currents sharper. Every stroke screamed through my arms. My gills burned, each breath drawn deeper. I tucked behind a veteran swimmer, using his wake to save what little energy I had. The organ in my chest throbbed, pulsing with stubborn light. I leaned into technique, letting finesse replace power.
The violet loop appeared like dawn after storm. Mist cloaked the final curve, and currents softened, almost reverent. Six of us remained in the lead. I kicked hard, but two veterans slipped ahead with the practiced ease of hundreds of races. I crossed third, a tail's length ahead of Torim.
We hovered over the pools. Caretakers chanted, and the water glowed with layered hues. I drew the fertilization strand from my pouch, mana-rich and shimmering, and released it into the violet glow. It spiraled downward like threads of light, merging with the eggs below. Pride swelled in me, tangled with guilt. The spear cast had broken the rule, even if it saved a life.
The arena erupted in cheers. Parents drummed, children spun kelp ribbons, voices filled the water with joy. Exile scouts recorded quietly, their pale mantles trailing. For a moment, the reef felt whole.
The ground convulsed.
The violet pylon cracked and toppled, crashing into the pool with a muffled boom. Water surged, hatchlings scattered, caretakers shielded eggs with their bodies. Above us, the warning crystal blazed red.
Far on the trench's edge, tracer lights shone, not blinking but burning steady.
Yera's whistle split the noise. Watchers converged, elders swam in tight formation. Commander Vonn's voice cut the chaos, low but urgent. "Lithari drills breached the outer casing. We have sixty cycles before they surface."
Sixty. Ten cycles lost in a single quake.
Debate flared. Some called for evacuation, others demanded stronger shields. Veshra floated at the edge, calm as stone. "We traced their path," she said, holding out an etched coral shard. "Your defenses stop too shallow. We have deeper tunnels."
Whispers surged, but Vonn nodded. "We need any path. Kaelen's mana pool is fresh. He knows the tunnels from patrol. He leads."
The ache in my arms felt distant. "I'll go," I said.
Yera met my eyes. "Then so will I." Two Watchers joined us. Veshra volunteered to guide, and Vonn allowed it.
Before leaving, I swam to the nursery dome. Hatchlings drifted in protective spheres, tiny bodies shimmering with first light. One pressed a palm to the barrier. I touched it back, silently promising to return.
Night had fallen by the time we gathered at the trench mouth. Stealth glyphs dimmed our glow to faint shadows. Yera signed final orders: no flare unless breached, rally at marker thirteen, retreat if collapse begins.
Water here was colder, heavier, full of distant machine rumble. My organ thudded, every beat a drum. Sixty cycles. Every heartbeat counted.
We slipped into the dark, the reef's song fading behind us, and the pulse in my chest matched the ticking drills below, relentless and close.